


Broken

by jambon



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Potential Triggers, Sad, Self Harm, Series 4, Short, mature themes, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambon/pseuds/jambon
Summary: Angsty one-shots of Sherlock, trigger warnings for drug abuse and self harm





	1. Fix

Sherlock's fingers scrabbled at the syringe on the table. They felt thick, clumsy. The world was spinning around him, colours merging into each other. Only one thought anchored him in place in this sea of addiction: the thought of his next fix. The detective managed to pick up the syringe. Snatches of conversations long ago played through his mind, making things even more confusing. Moriaty, threatening him at a swimming pool. John, asking him to be the best man at his wedding. Mrs Hudson, shouting at him over the state of the kitchen.

Breathing deeply to bring himself back to the real world, he plunged the needle into the veins in his wrist, pushing down on the plunger to get the drugs flowing through his body. It must have hurt. He didn't notice. His surroundings returned to the psychedelic colours he was now used to.

Slumping backwards into his seat, Sherlock was vaguely aware of what he was doing to his body. Wrecking it. A vague memory of Mycroft telling him about the dangers of drugs as a child came back to him. 'Drugs are something weak people take to make them feel strong, Sherlock' the brother in his mind told him. The now Sherlock started giggling. His brother was so, so funny and he had no idea why. The laughing fit continued for a few minutes longer, until Sherlock Holmes passed out. The detective who had once been so great and clever, now reduced to a drugged up mess.


	2. Scars

Sherlock brought the thin blade down towards his wrist. Head swimming with drugs, his hands shook, causing the blade to wobble on its descent. He had taken the blade from the razor he had no need for it any more. The thick black stubble growing on his jawline was testament to this.

As the blade connected with his wrist Sherlock felt a sharp pinching. He ignored it and pushed the blade further into his flesh. Crimson blood flowed like a river out of the break in his skin. He finally pulled the blade away, studying the wound he had made as a detective might study a crime scene. He almost laughed at this thought, but he hadn't laughed in a long time and had forgotten how. Putting the blood covered blade back on the kitchen table, he headed back to the chair on which he had been spending almost all of his time since Mary had died.

He tugged his sleeve down, covering the long line of scars on his forearm.


End file.
